The Brothers Sound
by Llwynog the Bard
Summary: Tragedy has struck. Now the Brothers Sound must set out to find the culprit and bring this villain to justice, for the sake of justice and for personal revenge. Rated T.
1. Forward

**The Brothers Sound**

**Forward**

Before beginning this story, there are some things you should know. The world in which this story is set is extensive and diverse; this story only features one continent, called Talanarith. Because the land is so varied, several real-world languages will be used. However, as I do not claim to be an expert in them, I will be using online translators. As such, real-world grammar will likely be incorrect. For my purpose, however, it will be considered correct in the fictional universe. Some of these will be altered somewhat for use by the non-human populations. This being a _Dungeons & Dragons_ story, the deities outlined in the _Player's Handbook ed. 3_ will be used (since that's the one I own), as well as various other real-world polytheistic pantheons. I will attempt to be as true to the actual mythology of those as I can, while still tailoring them to the fictional world. Also, various real-world historical figures will feature in this universe, either only in name or in a closer analogue of the actual person. This has always been something I liked to do when I would serve as Dungeon Master. Many place names are also derived from real-world locations. That being said, enjoy _The Brothers Sound_.


	2. Homecoming

_Hey folks. I realize that I have quite a few stories going on, but this one is not one of high priority to me, so don't expect very frequent updates. They'll happen if I have a lot of free time, but this is more of a for-fun one for me, rather than one especially to please you readers. This was originally the basis for what would have been a film that my friends and I wanted to make, but we never did it. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy _The Brothers Sound_. Disclaimer: __I do not own anything related to_ Dungeons & Dragons_. That belongs to Gary Gygax (rest his soul). All I own are original character and place names._

* * *

**The Brothers Sound**

**Ch. 1: Homecoming**

"Well," said George, looking up from his chopping block, "look who it is." Coming towards him was a man with dark blond hair that curled into ringlets around the edges. He was dressed in plain brown robes that clung tight around the middle, and he wore a white cloth bearing an image of the sun around his shoulders like a shawl. "It's been quite a long time, Rick."

"Indeed it has," replied Rick. "It's not often that I'm allowed time away from the monastery, and I could think of no better way to spend that time than to return home. Where's Tom?"

"Probably down in the cellar," said George in an exasperated way. George, in stark contrast to Rick, was lithe and fit. His hair was also dark blond, but was straight and currently pulled into a ponytail. He wore a brown tunic cinched with a thick leather belt at the waist, and tight-fitting sack-cloth trousers. He also wore deerskin boots that rose to mid-calf. "He's down there all the time now. Only really ever comes out for meals. He's got it so piled up with all his things that father and I had to dig out a new one to store the vegetables."

"Yes, that sounds like Tom, doesn't it?" He paused to gaze around at the area. The wooded hollow was very different than the stone-paved streets of the city. The simple wooden cabin in the middle of it all was in stark contrast to the stone walls of the monastery as well. It seemed unchanged from when he left for the city all those years ago. The old chair on the porch was just where it had been, the chopping block, the stream that ran nearby, it was all just as he had remembered. He breathed a sigh of sweet nostalgia. "It's good to be back."

Just then a gray-haired man in a muslin shirt and deerskin vest stepped out onto the porch. His sack-cloth trousers were a bit baggier than Rick remembered, but he was still just as recognizable twenty years later.

"I thought I heard Rick's voice," said the older man. "How have you been, my boy?"

"I think a better question would be 'how have you been?'," Rick replied.

"I'm in as good health as anyone," he said. "You, on the other hand, look like you stand to leave that cult of yours for a while. What do they feed you up there, boy?"

"Father," Rick chided, "the Church of Pelor isn't a cult, you know that. Although, I can't really disagree with you as far as my physical shape goes. There isn't much physical activity to be had there. However, if the mind were a muscle I could probably lift you by the ears with mine by now."

"Perhaps," said another man from behind Rick's father. "But if that's the case, you're severely behind, brother. As it turns out, I can already do that." As the other man stepped out into the daylight, the older man was lifted off the ground, apparently unsupported, and he didn't appear to be too happy about it either.

"Thomas!" his father barked. "How many times have I told you not to do that!"

"Sorry, Father," Tom chuckled as he lowered his father back down so that his feet were firmly planted on the porch. "There was simply no way for me to resist. Not on this occasion, at least." Tom was, if it could be said, was bridge that spanned the gap between Rick and George. He was lithe like George, but didn't have the build that would suggest much physical activity. He wore dark blue robes that ended halfway down his shins, with brown deerskin boots. He had long straight like George, but it was dark brown unlike his two brothers'.

"No, I can't imagine you would miss a chance to show off," chided Rick.

"I'm not showing off," said Tom, sounding indignant. "I'm just demonstrating the superiority of the arcane arts."

"How many times must I say it?" demanded Rick. "Arcane magic is not superior to divine magic, nor is divine magic superior to arcane magic. They both have their strengths and weaknesses. Sure, I'll never learn to cause my enemies to burst into flames as I'm sure you can do by now, but then you will never be able to raise a man from the dead, as I may well one day be able."

"You two and your magic," George scoffed. "It's like Father and I keep saying, all a man needs is his body and his wits. Magic is for those who can't get by without it."

"I'm not sure I ever said that," their father interjected. "If Man wasn't meant to control magic, he wouldn't have the means to. While it certainly isn't essential to live a meaningful life, it certainly does have its benefits. I just wish you boys would quit arguing about it."

"Father," said Rick, "as much as it would seem that George would be the one to say this, I'm not sure that we'll ever stop arguing about anything."

"True enough," said George. "We're just too different for that."

"I think we can all agree on that," said Tom.

"And lo and behold, you have found common ground," their father said.

"It is good to see you again, Richard," said Tom. "Gives me a buffer between me and the mundie."

"Mundie?" repeated Rick.

"Mundane," clarified George. "He thinks it's funny to call me 'mundie' because I can't perform any magic. What he either fails or refuses to realize is that I have no desire to do magic, so it's an empty insult."

"Not true," argued Tom. "It brings me entertainment, so I can't be empty."

"I wish there were a way to argue with that logic," sighed Rick.

"I swear," said their father, exasperated, "you boys are too much." He paused for a moment. "It is good to have you all together again."

Together they turned and went inside the house. With all the Sound boys back together again, it was a happy day in the wooded hollow. Little did they know that a dark cloud was about to cover their lives.


	3. Stranger

**The Brothers Sound**

**Ch. 2: Stranger**

"Rick," said George the next morning. "Come, I want to show you how the town has changed in the time you've been away."

"That would be nice," said Rick. "I tell you, I like Cherlein, but I do miss Sparrowhill."

"Tell me, Rick," said Tom. "Is it true that Cherlein has an arcane university?"

"No," he replied, "but there is a Mages' Guild branch there. "You would have to go to Helios if you wanted to find something like what you're talking about. That is a very long way, though. Near the northern coast, unless I am quite mistaken."

"Mmm…" Tom muttered to himself. "That is a shame. I thought if there was an arcane university in Cherlein I might move up there with you."

"Does nothing but magic interest you?" George demanded of Tom. "That's all you ever do. If you aren't doing magic you're talking about magic. Does nothing else ever enter your mind?"

Tom thought about it for a moment. "Yes," he finally decided. "I also think about food and women."

"Oh," said George in mock surprise, "so you are an actual man and not some kind of human imposter."

"I think that's something we can all agree on as well," said Rick.

"What do you mean?" George asked.

"Women," Rick answered.

"I thought you priests of Pelor had to swear a vow of celibacy," Tom interjected.

"That, thank The Shining One, is a myth. I could lay with all the women I wanted if they would agree to it."

"'If' being the operative word," said George. "Aren't you glad to be back home?"

"Of course," said Rick, "even with the way you two act." He paused for a moment. "Well, come on, then. You said you were going to show me how the town has changed, so show me."

* * *

"My goodness, it has changed," Rick said in awe as they passed through the streets of Sparrowhill. "I remember like it was yesterday that all this was wooded area."

"Yes, well," said Tom as they walked, "it turns out that at some point in history, no one's really sure when yet, there was some kind of event that left a lot of residual magic in the area." A gleeful grin spread across his face. "Needless to say, quite a few wizards came to study it, and its implications."

"We realized that these mages weren't leaving any time soon," continued George, "so we just went with it. Their personal wealth, plus the funding from the Mages' Guild brought in money. After a while the town council got in their heads that they could charge the mages money to stay here and continue their research, and do the same to any other mages wanting to come in. For some reason, none of the mages were opposed to the idea."

"Interesting," Rick said. "I may have to have a look at this myself. Are you sure it was of arcane origin?"

"That's what makes it such a hot-spot," said Tom. "No one's been able to tell one way or the other. Any kind of verification web that's been run on it has failed before it could complete."

"I take it you haven't taken into consideration that it might be divine magical residue," Rick said, lifting an eyebrow appraisingly.

"You would say that, wouldn't you?" Tom sneered. "Well, I wish I could tell you you're wrong, but no, I hadn't considered that. Neither has any of the other mages, from the looks of it."

"All this talk about magic," George sighed melodramatically. "I swear, between the two of you I'll be in the grave by noon. They'll have it etched in my tombstone: George Sound, Neto 135 – Corvanus 113, Death by Boredom."

"Yes, I suppose that might be the case," chucked Rick. "Those without magic do tend to find the talk of it to be oppressively dry. You have magic in your blood, though. I fail to see why you don't use it."

"Because I have no desire to," George said. "It's like I said yesterday, all a man needs is his body and his wits. Magic always seems to overcomplicate things."

"The only magic that overcomplicates things is the divine branch," insisted Tom. "Look at the arcane arts, just a man and his power to manipulate magic. People like Rick, here, and their little cults start dragging the gods into it and that's when it all goes haywire."

"The Church of Pelor is not a cult, I've told you," Rick snapped. "Now granted, you do have these people that worship Baatezu and other things, or the gods like Erythnul and Wee Jas and so on, but for the most part the gods complicate nothing. If anything, the gods are what make this life livable. Besides, I hardly believe you'd dare say anything so bold to Boccob's face."

"Of course not," said Tom. "Why would I want to anger the god of magic?"

"Contradicting yourself now, I see," George interjected. "Nice one, brother."

"Oh, as if this discussion makes any difference to you!" shouted Tom. "Why would you even weigh in on something that you consider so trivial?"

"To give you a hard time, of course," George said complacently.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Rick said, attempting to calm the storm that was beginning to build. "There's no need for shouting. It's not uncommon for scholars to disagree. Let this be one of those occasions. Now, I don't have much time before I have to return to the monastery, so please let me have this time be peaceful."

They nodded their agreement and continued on through the streets of Sparrowhill, allowing Rick to reminisce on the days of his childhood. Growing up, most of the area had been wooded, much like the hollow where the cabin stood, but now it was a regular town with paving-stone streets and even a fairly large fountain in the middle of a public square. As Rick rested on the low wall that contained the water from the fountain, a small man, barely taller than four feet, came hurrying toward the three brothers.

"Master Sound," said the small man as he approached the group. "I have a message for you." He handed an envelope to George.

"There are Halflings here now?" Rick inquired. It wasn't a spiteful tone he used, but rather one of sincere curiosity. "I'd only ever known humans to live in Sparrowhill."

"Yes, there is a small Halfling population now," said George. "Forgive him, Donal. He hasn't been back to Sparrowhill in twenty years. This is my brother Rick, the cleric."

"Well met, Master Sound," said Donal. "It is good to meet you finally. Your brother has spoken of you quite often. Well, I must be off. The work waits." Donal then sped off into the town.

"Well, open it, then," said Tom impatiently. George tore open the envelope and unfolded the bit of parchment inside. As he read, he drew his brow down into a frown.

"It says, 'I suggest the three of you hurry home. You might already be too late. – Vernam'."

"Who is Vernam? Is that a friend of yours?" asked Rick.

"Never heard of this person," said George. "I think we'd better run home."

* * *

The Sound brothers raced through the streets of Sparrowhill in their attempt to return home as soon as possible. If something bad were happening, they wanted to try to stop it before it was too late. They rounded the bend that led to the wooded hollow, and they could see smoke rising up through the trees. They heightened their pace to get home. When they finally reached the wooded hollow, they were met by a ghastly sight.

Before their very eyes, the old wooden house where they had spent their childhood was engulfed in roaring flames. Thick black smoke billowed up into the trees, but the worst of it stood between them and the house.

A person, who appeared to be a high elf, was standing in the middle of the path leading to the house. He had on a sleeveless black leather tunic that was open at the sides, revealing what appeared to be an ivory-colored breastplate. He also wore black leather boots and bracers, and a blood red mantle over his shoulders, which continued down into a cape that would also cover his arms to function as a cloak of sorts as well. On his head he wore a helmet that looked as if it had been fashioned from the bones of some kind of beast; it was the same off-white ivory as his breastplate, and was adorned with what appeared to be teeth and claws. It was a fearsome sight to behold. The worst thing of all, though, was that in his left hand he held a pole sharpened into a pike that was planted into the ground, and with his right hand he held their father by the hair.

"Looks like you're too late boys!" shouted the elf, and before any of them could react, he forced their father down chin-first onto the pike.

"You bastard!" shouted George, removing his woodcutter's axe from his hip. "I'll kill you!"

"This, brother, is also something we can agree on!" yelled Tom, as he flung a flurry of magically conjured fireballs at the offender. Before any of them could reach him, though, he vanished with a theatrical swish of his cape.

The brothers stood dumbstruck for a moment, unable to do anything other than watch in shock and horror as their childhood home burned to the ground behind their father, whose blood now watered the ground at the base of the pike. George finally allowed his axe to fall to the ground before rushing over to him. Rick and Tom followed. Together, they lifted the man off the spike in the ground and laid him out on the ground. Rick removed a bit of cloth from his pouch and wiped the blood away before using the magic he learned at the monastery to close up the wound.

"You realize what this means," Tom said, finally breaking the hush that had fallen over the wooded hollow.

"What's that?" George managed, doing his best to hold back hot tears.

"This person – Vernam, I'm assuming – has left us no choice. We must become killers."

No one said anything more as they set to work preparing the body of their father to be laid to rest.


	4. Beginning the Journey

_Hello everyone. It's good to be uploading something again. Free time is something that doesn't seem to want to darken my doorstep anymore. Thankfully, I ran into some just now, and was able to finish this chapter. Who knows when the next will be up, but I hope you'll enjoy this one all the same._

* * *

**The Brothers Sound**

**Ch. 3: Beginning the Journey**

"I must return to the monastery," said Rick after the funeral was over. There had been a quite ceremony to commemorate the life of the father Sound before he had been interred.

"You can't be serious," George demanded. "You come home, you watch our father get _murdered_, and then you just…go back there as if nothing happened?"

"You know it isn't like that," Rick began.

"Then what is it like?" George insisted, raising his voice. "Tell me, what is it like? That Vernam person killed him. We have to go hunt him down!"

"I know that," said Rick. "That's precisely why I must return to the monastery. You're coming too, by the way." He turned to Tom. "As are you."

"So," said Tom, "we're going on a real adventure, then?"

"It would appear so," said Rick. "We have no real choice, do we? A terrible crime was committed, and we must see that justice is brought forth."

George gave him a knowing look. "But do you have it in you, brother? When it comes time to take the life of another man, do you have what it takes inside?"

"St. Cuthbert will grant me strength when the time comes," said Rick solemnly. "As a matter of fact, his hall in Cherlein is one place we'll be stopping by while we're there."

"Why there?" asked Tom.

"St. Cuthbert is the patron god of justice," said Rick. "I can't think of a place that would be able to better prepare us for bringing justice than there."

"Fair enough," said Tom. "Do they have arcane magical components there by any chance?"

"I don't know," said Rick. "I've never actually been there before, never had any reason to. I doubt it, though, but there are several shops that sell that kind of thing."

"Good," said Tom. "All of my things were destroyed, so I'll have to start completely over again."

"Alright, enough talk of magic," said George. "Let's just get a move on. The sooner we get going, the sooner we can bring Vernam to justice."

* * *

The city was nothing like anything George or Tom had ever seen. The narrow streets seemed like an endless maze of paving stones, towering buildings, and people. Never had they seen so many people. There had to be enough people there to fill Sparrowhill a thousand times over, surely. High up on a hill, the castle stood, looking down over the city below it. As Rick led his brothers through the labyrinthine streets, George and Tom couldn't help but let their jaws hang open as the marveled at the sight. Finally they arrived at the monastery. It was a great contrast to the rest of the city; instead of the stone that covered every other inch of the city, the monastery was surrounded by a garden on all sides, with a row of paving stones providing a path to the door. To George, it seemed a nice respite from the hustle and bustle of the streets.

"So this is the place you call home now," said George. "Not bad."

"Yes," Rick said with a nod. "Especially in a city as large as this, it's nice to have a haven from the weary, sorrowful circle of life."

"You have quite the way with words," said Tom. "Although I must say, I'm not sure it could've been better said. Sorrowful indeed."

"Come," said Rick. "Let us not stand on ceremony. We have a long road ahead of us, and we know not yet where it leads, or where even it begins."

"What is it you need to do here, brother?" George asked.

"A few things," replied Rick. "I need to gather some icons to take, various herbs and whatnot for medicinal purposes. Why, is there something you had in mind?"

"Admittedly, I could use a weapon," George conceded. "Somehow I doubt this woodcutter's axe will be much use out in the wild lands. Besides, Tom is itching to find some magical something or other, as you well know."

"That's fine," Rick said. "I still have to visit St. Cuthbert's hall; it's near the main square, as are most businesses. We can walk there together, go about our various doings and meet back there in a few hours."

"That sounds fair," said Tom. "It wouldn't do to get separated in this city, but if everything is nearby, as you say…George and I could stay together in the meantime."

Together the brothers walked, guided by Rick, to the main square; a large fountain in the shape of several mermaids stood in the center. People of all sorts were gathered; men, elves, dwarves, Halflings, and even what looked to be an orc could be seen.

"Is that…an orc?" Tom asked aloud, unable to help himself. "I've read about those, but I've never actually seen one. I'm amazed they haven't killed it now that it's inside the city."

"Thomas!" Rick exclaimed abashedly. "Don't be so rude. That's Adokul, and he's half human. The orc that raped his mother was killed, though. The church took pity on him and raised him, and now he serves as the porter at the monastery."

"Perhaps that will teach you to think before you speak, brother," said George.

* * *

An hour or so later, the three of them reunited in the square. It was late afternoon, so most of the people they had seen earlier had left.

"Well, I see you've outfitted yourself nicely," said Rick upon taking in the sight of George. He wore a new set of leather vambraces, a leather pauldron on his right shoulder, and carried a wooden shield slung across his back. There was also a new sword hanging from his left hip, which he rested his hand on.

"I have," he said. "So how was St. Cuthbert's hall?"

"It was well," said Rick. "They lent me this mace, although I don't think they really expect it returned. They also provided us some packs and various provisions for the road." George and Tom each took one of the packs and slung them on their backs.

"Well then," said Tom, "I suppose we should be off, then, yes?"

They all agreed that east would be the best direction to go, because the eastern road would lead them to the town of Swyncrest, where their father had been born. That seemed to be the best place to start. So, the brothers Sound began their journey east, knowing not what lay before them on the long and lonesome road.


	5. The Road East

**The Brothers Sound**

**Ch. 4: The Road East**

The sky was a deep red as the sun began to set in the western sky. The brothers Sound had walked the rest of the afternoon on the road east, towards the town called Swyncrest, and they had not rested. Just as the sun was beginning to set, Tom sat down right in the middle of the road.

"I can go no further!" he cried out. "I'll die right here before my legs will carry me another step!"

"What's the matter, Tom?" George chided. "Haven't you got a spell or something that will solve your problem? I'll bet you wish you'd been more active like me now. I've still got plenty of energy." This may not have been entirely true, but he wasn't about to let Tom know that now.

"I wouldn't argue with resting either," said Rick, "but unfortunately, I know that we must keep moving. Here," he said, and produced a small glass vial from his belt pouch that contained a clear green liquid. "This is a tincture for replenishing stamina. Hopefully we can put a few more miles behind us before the sun sets."

Tom took the vial from Rick, and gave the concoction a sniff. It had an odd smell to it, like a mix of whiskey and pine nuts. He drained the vial, and instantly could feel energy returning to him. "Well," he said as he got to his feet, "that certainly is something. Perhaps there is something to that monastery after all."

Now that Tom was revitalized, the brothers continued on the road east. It was an often and well used road, so aside from the burden of the packs they carried, it was easy going. They had indeed put several miles behind them by the time the first stars dotted the sky.

"Not much moon, is there?" George mused. "It's a shame. We could've kept going through the night."

"You could have, perhaps," said Rick, "but I think I speak for us all, even you, when I say we are tired and due for rest. We should find a place off the road, but not too far from it, to make camp for the night."

"I see the perfect spot up ahead," said Tom, pointing through the trees. "There looks to already be a fire. Perhaps whoever has built it will take kindly to our company."

"Not a bad idea, but we should be cautious," said George. "We haven't reached the wild lands, but we're not so near to civilization anymore that we can assume they will be friendly."

The brothers stole towards the light of the fire, just visible through the trees and the underbrush. They moved slowly, attempting to make as little noise as possible. In the end, they made a great deal more noise than they had wished, since George was the only one of the three who was used to traversing the woods. When they had finally broken through the underbrush, they were greeted with the sight of a man lying near the fire, his pack at his feet.

"Is he hurt, I wonder?" Rick whispered.

"I don't think so," George answered. "His breathing looks too regular."

"His pack's got a tag on it," observed Tom. "I'll take a look and see if it's got his name on it." Tom stole towards the pack, doing everything in his power to make as little noise as possible. Just as he had guessed, there was a name written on the tag.

"E-x-q," he mused. "I wonder how –" He was denied the chance to finish the thought, because just as he said it aloud, the stranger pounced and was on him. Within seconds, the stranger had Tom pinned to the ground with a knife at his throat.

"Leave now, or I'll kill you where you stand," the stranger hissed.

"Impossible," Tom replied, though he strained to keep his throat as far from the knife as he could. "I'm on the ground, so you can't kill me where I stand, as I'm not standing."

"Tom!" George called, as he and Rick went tumbling through the underbrush. "Tom, now is no time for your smart tongue. Sir," he then began addressing the stranger, "we have no quarrel with you. We simply saw the light from your fire and thought perhaps we could join you. We too are travelers on the road, and could use the company. We mean you no harm."

"Why should I believe you?" the stranger demanded, not taking the blade from Tom's throat.

"As a representative of the Church of Pelor," Rick said, "I give you my word that what George says is true. Also," he added, giving George a sideways half-apologetic look, "we will lay down our weapons a sign of good faith." He laid down his mace at his feet, and George followed suit with his sword.

"You are true to your word," said the stranger. He got off of Tom, who lay gasping for breath, and sheathed his knife. "Forgive me. It is unwise to trust anyone one might meet on the road."

"You are forgiven," said Rick, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head to Tom, who was giving a vicious scowl. "I suppose you know that our brother read the tag on your pack, as you pounced on him soon after. He spelled what must be your name, but would you be so kind as to provide it?"

"As you say, you have seen it in writing," said the stranger. "It sounds just as it appears, 'ex-cue'."

"Exq…" George mused. "I'm not familiar with that name. What origin is it?"

"I was always told it was elven, but I'm not sure to be honest," Exq replied. "I was raised by my mother, in Swyncrest to the east. I never met my father. She always told me he came from the elven kingdom of Camerost to the north, but I know not for sure."

"So you're half-elf, half-human," said Rick. "I hope that hasn't affected your ability to find work. In some places the people look down on those with mixed blood."

"It has," Exq admitted. "That's why I'm leaving Westerland. Perhaps in one of the other kingdoms they will take kindly. Maybe I'll travel to Camerost."

"Well, we're heading in that general direction, at least to where the road splits," George said. "If you would be willing to travel with us, we would appreciate the company. This is the farthest east any of us have traveled. It would be good to have someone around who knows the land."

"Admittedly, I have only traveled this road once," admitted Exq with a shrug. "I tried to find a life in Milldell, but they didn't take kindly. That is why I decided to travel back east."

They continued to talk well into the night. By the time they all bedded down, it was decided: Exq would join them on the road east to Swyncrest. Even with the addition of the half-elf to their party, the brothers Sound still had a long and daunting road before them.


	6. Swyncrest

**The Brothers Sound**

**Ch. 5: Swyncrest**

Exq's eyes opened wide with a start. He had been lost in reverie for hours, until he was torn from it when a horrific scream rent the still night air. He rushed back to the campsite to find Rick and George standing over a dark wet pile of something.

"What happened?" Exq demanded, breathless.

"Goblins," said George, wiping his sword on the grass. "They caught us unawares."

"Where is your brother, Tom?" Exq asked?

"He…" George broke off. He remained silent for a while before finally saying, "He is with Rick." He then turned and went silently over away from the campsite.

Exq then turned to Rick, who was knelt down next to the pile. Upon looking closer, Exq could see now that the pile was a stack of goblin bodies, and the wet sheen was their spilled blood. He then saw what Rick was kneeling next to and immediately felt the urge to retch.

"He was the first one they touched," said Rick, his voice solemn and hushed. "He had no time to react. His neck is broken."

Exq turned his eyes to the ground. "I blame myself," he said. "Sleep eluded me even after the three of you lay down. I should have remained near the camp, but I did not."

"Blame not yourself, or George, or me," said Rick. "We had no way of knowing, and goblins are cunning in the dark. I know not what their goal was, whether it was to steal food or goods, or simply the joy of killing. It is painful, but we will live. We must be more vigilant from now on."

* * *

Near the campsite next to the road they buried Tom's body, and marked it with a wooden slab. Rick carved into it the likeness of an open eye, Boccob's sign, with the words THOMAS SOUND: NETO 132 – CORVANUS 113, AGE 23 below it. Next to the slab they laid a bough of laurel evergreen. Then they continued on towards Swyncrest.

For three days they marched, keeping a more vigilant eye to their surroundings. They were lucky, for in their time journeying they were met by neither man nor beast. Finally, after what seemed countless hours, they could see a tower rising up from the horizon.

"That looks like an outpost," said George. "We must be nearly there." Sure enough, when they finally reached the tower, they saw that it was a Swyncrest guard garrison.

"Oy!" shouted a Swyncrest guard. "What are you lot doin', skulkin' about, like?"

"We are travelers," said Rick, "weary from our journey. We seek only rest right now."

"You lot look mighty well armed for travelers," said the guard suspiciously.

"A man never knows whom or what he might meet on the road," said George. "It never hurts to be prepared. Truth be told, one of our party was torn asunder by goblins a few days ago."

"Oh dear," said the guard, and he relented a bit in his wariness. "I am quite sorry to 'ear that. What brings you to Swyncrest, then?"

"We have business here," said Exq. "May we enter the city or not?"

"You may," said the guard, "but you will have to leave your weapons at the city gate. There is a guardhouse there. They will keep your arms, and you can retrieve them when you leave the city."

"Fair enough," said George. "We would rather keep our arms on our person, but if that is the law in Swyncrest, then we shall abide by it."

The group continued on the rest of the way to the city. Just as they had been told at the outpost, there was a guardhouse at the west gate. They checked their weapons, and ventured on into the city.

"Well, it's certainly not Cherlein," said Rick. Where the city he was used to was a merry place, with its manicured gardens and broad thoroughfares, Swyncrest was cramped and dirty. The buildings were very close together, with the streets having barely enough room for a cart to pass through, and the people all had the same hollow, hopeless look in their eyes.

"Charming," said George. "Well, shall we find a public house where we can sit and decide our next move?"

"I think so, yes," said Exq. They asked the first person they saw, a grouchy old crone who pointed them in the direction of a tavern called The Cracked Stone, and they made their way there. The Cracked Stone, like everything else in the city, was cramped, crowded, filthy, and thoroughly devoid of joy. The three ordered a round, found an empty table, and waited for the cranky barmaid to bring their drinks.

"Alright, so here we are," said Rick. "What next? I daresay we're no closer to knowing how to find Vernam than we were before."

"Unfortunately, I feel you are correct," said Exq. "It doesn't help that we know essentially nothing about what this city has become, nor the happenings that have occurred here in the past decades. I remember a much more pleasant Swyncrest from my youth." He paused. "This is not the city I remember." For a moment they sat in silence, until they were approached by a stranger. The stranger, a dwarf, was clad in a leathern ankle-length tunic with a hood that concealed his face, although his long, luxurious beard could be seen from underneath.

"Excuse me," he said in a deep, commanding voice. "I hate to interrupt your meeting; it is terribly rude of me, being a stranger to you, but I could not help but overhear your conversation. You mentioned the name Vernam. I am interested to know why."

"Not to be rude, myself," said George, "but why is it any concern of yours?"

"That name means something to me," he said. "I was driven from my home because of him. I would invite you to sit with me, that we might become friends, even if there is elf blood among you."

"A dwarf would say such a thing," said Exq, "although I feel that I am in no position to take much offence. Besides, elves and dwarves have been friends in the past. We will accept your offer." The party left their own table and went to sit at the dwarf's (much to the agitation of the barmaid).

"Tell me," said the dwarf, who still had not removed his hood, "why did you mention Vernam's name?"

"I cannot speak for our half-elven friend," said Rick, "but my brother and I met him some time ago. It was not a happy encounter. We found him standing before our childhood home, the place burning around him, and our father impaled upon a pike."

"So you two seek revenge," mused the dwarf. "I can understand that. And what of you, half-elf? Why do you seek him?"

"Personally, I do not," Exq said frankly. "My intent was only to return here, to the place of my childhood, and then continue on the road to Camerost. I hope to find my father, or perhaps half-siblings there."

"So you intend to leave the party soon," the dwarf surmised. "Fair enough. After all, you have no quarrel with him, have you?"

"I do not," said Exq, "but the brothers Sound and I have become friends, although I blame myself for the death of the third brother. I wish to help them, if I can."

"The third brother?"

"Tom," said George. "He was killed shortly after we met our half-elf friend. Goblins attacked us in the night. We killed them, but we were unable to before they broke his neck."

"A tragedy," said the dwarf. "I would have liked to meet him, now that I know he lived. So tell me, what are your names?"

"I would be more inclined to tell you if you told us yours," said Exq. "So far you have asked us of our purpose, but have said nothing of your own other than that the name Vernam holds some significance to you."

"Very well," said the dwarf. "I will tell you, but we must leave this place. There are too many people here, and a man can never be sure who to trust in Swyncrest anymore. Gone are those days."

"A shame," sighed Exq. "It used to be such a lovely place."

"Are you a Swyncrest native?" asked the dwarf.

"I am," said Exq, "although I have not lived here for many the year."

"I cannot say I blame you," said the dwarf. "This city has gone downhill greatly in the past years. Not that I need to tell you that, just look around. But listen, I have an apartment in the city. If you will agree, we will go there and I will tell you my story."

* * *

The dwarf's apartment wasn't much, but then nothing in Swyncrest was, it seemed. It was on the second floor of a great stone building that housed other like living arrangements. There was a low straw bed, a stone fireplace with a pot for cooking, and a table, but little else.

"Now that we are away from listening ears," said the dwarf, "I will tell you my story. I am called Thorvold in the common tongue, and Thorevaldr in the dwarf tongue known to men and elves. I have lived in Swyncrest for many years, working as a jeweler, forging bands to fit gems. I suppose it is appropriate that I would be drawn to that which is precious, seeing as it is that which I lost. The reason the name Vernam is significant to me is because Vernam is the reason that I live here. I was once the Eminent Geldbeo Fourth Descending of Kazdum."

"Geldbeo?" asked Exq.

"It is a word in Dethek, the dwarf tongue that is not kept secret, and it means "Golden Bear" in the tongue of Men. My ancestor Thedez was called Thedhadez Geldbeo because, according to legend, he boasted that he was a living god, so Moradin sent a great bear with a pelt of gold to kill him, so that the other dwarven nations would see that no mortal dwarf may make such a claim unfounded. When the bear came to him, he fought with it, and while he did later die of his wounds, he managed to kill Moradin's bear. It was skinned, and so through the generations the Lord of Kazdum has worn the sacred pelt as a symbol of his eminence over the realm."

"What does that have to do with Vernam?" asked George, who really didn't see the point in the history lesson.

"I was getting to that," said Thorvold. "You see, I am rightfully a Dwarf Lord, and in truth I have Vernam to thank for that, but it comes at too high a price. I cannot remember how many years ago – forty, maybe? or fifty? – the halls of Kazdum were invaded by ocs. Normally this would have been no cause for concern – the Dwarves of Kazdum had killed innumerable orcs before then, for our hands are skilled and our blades keen, but these orcs were accompanied by a mage of terrifying skill. My people were slain, the treasure hordes destroyed, and the mountains were caused to collapse. I curse myself for being away from Kazdum when it happened. I could have died with my brothers and sisters, in a fight, the way a dwarf should die. Instead I was returning home, and I saw it from a distance. There was nothing I could do. Now there is hardly a reminder at all that once a great dwarf kingdom stood there. So you see, with my father and brothers dead, I am ascended to the title of Lord of Kazdum, but the price is unbearable. While I may now be a Dwarf Lord, I am the last of the Dwarves of Kazdum."

"That is terrible," said Rick. "We understand your grief, if we cannot perhaps fully grasp it. I am Richard Sound, and this is my brother George."

"And I am Exq," said the half-elf.

"We are well met," said Thorvold. "If you please, I would join you on your quest to seek justice against the monster who calls itself Vernam. I think you may find it helpful to have a Dwarf Lord among you. I am skilled with an axe, and I may still have influence given my status, if Kazdum is still remembered by men and elves."


	7. Investigation

_I don't own Dungeons & Dragons, only original characters and locations, and even then, I don't necessarily own the names of those things if they are derived from actual places or people.  
_

* * *

**Ch. 6: Investigation**

"We should be off," said Thorvold. "I fear, though, that the day is gone, and we will not make much headway tonight. Besides, I suspect you came here armed, did you not?"

"We did," said Exq.

"Then we will need to stop at the weapons check and retrieve your things," said Thorvold. "We will do this at first light, and then be off. Was there a certain direction you were heading?"

"Well," said Rick, "actually we were planning on investigating Swyncrest. Our father was born and grew up here, you see, so we thought we might find out what we could to connect him with Vernam."

"I see," said Thorvold. "Then I will help you if I can. I will let my business partner know what is happening; I foresee this venture taking us away from Swyncrest, and I believe he will be able to help us."

"Who is this person?" asked George. "You haven't mentioned a business partner before."

"His name is Ruairidh, of the Baoithein clan in the kingdom of Adhamhnàn. I'm not sure what brought him this far west; in truth, he has come clear across this land from the eastern shores, but I am glad fate caused us to meet. We have done good business together. I told you that I crafted bands for jewelry. Ruairidh is the gem-cutter, and a damn fine one at that; his smaller hands afford him much greater dexterity than mine could."

"How would a gnomish gem-cutter aid us in our endeavor?" asked Exq, a bit harshly.

"That remains to be seen," admitted Thorvold, "but one can never be sure. Gnomes are the tricky ones of the Little People. You might be surprised."

"Very well," said Rick. "Ruairidh will join us, if he agrees, although like Exq, I can't imagine what use he'll be. We'll see, though, I suppose."

* * *

The next day, the group left Thorvold's apartment and ventured out into the city. They walked together to Thorvold's jewelry shop, where they bid each other good day, for the time being; Thorvold couldn't close the shop as he hadn't let Rauiridh know ahead of time what was happening. In the meantime, the rest of the group decided to go and stock up on supplies, if they could be found.

"There's a temple to Pelor," said Exq. "At least one thing is still here from my childhood. If the temple is there, we can't be far from the town center, although it may well not be there anymore. Everything else about this city seems changed."

"Well, let's be off, then," said George. "If anything can be found that can help us, we should be grateful for it."

To Exq's delight, the town center was largely unchanged from how he remembered it. A fountain carved in the likeness of mermaids dominated the central square, although it had long since run dry. Various shops and stalls lined the outside of the square, but like everyone else they had seen in Swyncrest, the owners were unpleasant ad hopeless. In the end, George bought a new bow and some arrows (which were sent off to the weapons check at the guardhouse), Rick refilled his herb pouch, and Exq bought foodstuffs. Once all their errands had been done, they met back up with Thorvold and Ruairidh at their jewelry shop.

"Ruairidh Baoitheinach, at y' service," said the Gnome with a sweeping bow, before the brothers and Exq had even had a chance to register his presence. When he'd righted himself, they could see that he had a wiry build, bright blue eyes full of mischief, and pitch black hair with a fine set of mutton chops to match. He wore a tiny kilt of red, black, and gold tartan, a muslin shirt with a black leather vest, and knee-high black boots. "Thorvold's told me all about the plan, and don't think for a minute that ye'll be leavin' without me."

"Fair enough," said Rick, "but what will happen to your shop?"

"We'll close it, of course," said Thorvold. "There's no guarantee that we'll come back from this adventure, so there's no point in keeping a shop open with no one to run it, especially when there's a chance that the owners may not return."

"We'll take the merchandise with us, o' course," said Ruairidh. "There's quite a bit of silver in the strongbox, but it would be wise to take the jewels as well in case we need money later."

"That's very true," said Exq. "Speaking of silver, we've none left."

"Luckily, Ruairidh and I have plenty," said Thorvold. "Come, let us be on our way. We'll buy some ponies to carry our supplies and then be on our way."

"Where did ye say we were headin' again?" piped up Ruairidh.

"Camerost," said Rick. "I never thought I'd see the day when I left Westerland behind, but it's the only choice."

"Hmm…" Ruairidh mused. "I no have been fond of Elves in a long time – and I mean a _long_ time – but perhaps these Elves are different."

"What do you mean?" asked George.

"I'll explain on the way," said Ruairidh. "Right now we've a jewelry shop to loot and some ponies to buy, so let's get a move on, shall we?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, my friend," said Rick. "Before we head out, my brother and I, and Exq, where thinking of investigating this city, to see if what we can discover."

"About Vernam," said Ruairidh. "Yes, Thorvold mentioned that he was the reason you were here."

"So you know about him?" George demanded.

"Not enough to be useful," said the Gnome, "but what I do know ties in to why I'm this far west, and I told you I'd explain that on the way. So listen, I'm quite eager to get on the road. I'll go ahead and gather the things here and then go see about the ponies. You lot go on and search wherever ye may. I'll go ahead and fetch your weapons as well."

* * *

All that day the brothers and Exq traversed Swyncrest, asking anyone who would speak if they knew anything about an elf named Vernam. Most people turned them away, and those who did speak had little to say. Most said they'd never heard of him. Others said that they had heard of him but didn't know anything about him. Finally one old man told them something of use.

"I've heard of him," said the old man, "and in truth I've more than heard of him. He's the reason Swyncrest is in the shape it is."

"What do you mean?" asked Exq.

"What I mean is that Swyncrest used to be the capital of Middlefyder. You see the castle there?" He pointed off into the distance, where the top of a keep could just be seen; parts of it had crumbled away. "That used to be Castle Middlefyder, from the days of David, Duke of Middlefyder. Then one day, an Elf waltzed in, and offered his services as court wizard. Then everything changed. I don't know the particulars of how it happened, but over time the city started to just fall apart. Crops and livestock started to die, silver got to be worth next to nothing while prices kept getting higher and higher; many people left, and just as many began selling themselves into slavery just pay their debts. Then, just as suddenly as he came, Vernam left, and then David died. His son Christopher rules this duchy now, from Nevron, to the north."

"Do you think we might be able to gain an audience with him?" asked Rick. "We were headed north anyhow, so Nevron may well be on the way."

"It's about four days travel north of here," said the elder. "Passage is pretty safe through there. There's a goblin population, but the military keeps them in check."

"Good to know," George said. "We lost our brother to goblins on the way here from Sparrowhill."

"I don't know where you're going," said the old man, "and I don't care to know. But best of luck to you, whatever you do, boys. And if you die, better to die there than here, wherever 'there' may be." Then he hobbled away with the help of his cane. They never saw him again.

* * *

"Well, Ruairidh," said George, when they met at the north gate, "you'll be pleased to know that we won't be meeting any Elves as soon as we would've been. There might be some answers for us in Nevron, if we're lucky. We'll need to gain an audience with the Duke of Middlefyder."

"You forget you have a Dwarf Lord in your company," Thorvold reminded him.

"Well then, what're we waitin' for?" demanded Ruairidh. "Let's go!"


	8. Arriving at Nevron

_I don't own D&D. We all know this._

* * *

**The Brothers Sound**

**Ch. 7: Arriving at Nevron**

"Here you are," said the guard at the gatehouse. "Everything should be in order. Check to make sure it is, then sign here if everything is correct, or mark with an X if you can't read, and then you can be on your way." The party each signed the guard's scroll, collected their weapons, loaded them onto their ponies, and started on the road north just after the sun had risen from behind the far-off hills.

An hour or so into their journey, George turned his head to look at their new accomplice. "So, Ruairidh," he said, "you said you would tell us your story on the way. This is the way, so now why don't you tell us your story?"

"Certainly," said the Gnome. He cleared his throat. "Y'see, it was many years ago. Many, many years, for y'see, Gnomes are quite a bit longer-lived than Men, as we all know. Just as Dwarves and Elves and Halflings are longer-lived than Men."

"You're starting to ramble," Thorvold interrupted. "Forgive him, he does tend to digress. Carry on, friend."

"Right," continued Ruairidh. "As I was saying, this was very long time ago, back when I was but a wee bairnie. Well, not too wee, perhaps; if memory serves, and it dinnae always but aft does, I was around three-and-twenty years; right young for a Gnome, that is. Now, I dinnae ken what ye might ken about Adhamnàn, but the whole place is divided into kingdoms, much like the duchies and principalities of Westerland. High King Cinèad "an Ferbasach" MacAilpìn rules over everyone, but in the northeast there is a kingdom called Eilsrìochail, which covers nine island. That's the land whence I was born, specifically, the southernmost island, in the town of Brumfield. It was a town settled by Men from Westerland, but it was still a fine place to call home. I was the son of a gemcutter, who was himself the son of a gemcutter, far back down the line. As a lad I was always in his shop, and I helped when I could. Then one day, a group of Men from Soghain arrived. Soghain, if ye dinnae ken, is the land to the west of Adhamnàn. It started out as the homeland of the Little People; Halfling and Gnome clans lived side by side. Eventually the Gnome clans decided to move east, and we settled the land which we called our own. Now, of course, Men rule those lands –"

"Ruairidh," interrupted Thorvold a second time, "you're doing it again."

"Begging your pardon," said Ruairidh. "At any rate, there came a day when some Men from Soghain arrived in Brumfield. No one thought anything of it; Men and came and went quite aft. We realized our mistake in trusting these Men soon enough; their first act upon arriving was tae set fire tae the mill. Panic ensued. People were running and screaming, Men and Gnomes, Halflings…everyone was in a frenzied terror. Among the chaos, one man stood out from the rest; an Elf, in armor that looked tae be made of bone. Before I knew what was happening, I had a bag o'er me heid and a set of arms round the rest of me. I couldnae get away, no matter how hard I tried."

"Vernam," said George. "Your description of that Elf matches the one who murder our father and burned our family home."

"I thought it might," said Ruairidh. "Well, I didnae ken where they were taking us; there were others captured besides meself. We were all stuffed in a wagon tighter than yer wedding night, if ye tak' me meaning. Eventually we stopped, and they let us out, and I was led awa'. When they took that infernal bag off me heid, I was with a family of Elves, and soon come tae find out they'd bought me as a slave. So I worked for them for…Glittergold only knows how many years, until I finally managed to escape. I kept on the move, nivir staying in one place for too long. I had thought I'd find me way back tae Adhamnàn, but that was wishful thinking; I had no idea where I was or which way was what. I'd say I traveled all over Soghain, through the peat bogs and over the hills. I nivir spoke to anyone. I no was safe until I crossed the border intae Ganolfan."

"The birthplace of the Elves," interjected Exq. "At least, that's how the stories go."

"Aye, there were Elves there, tae be sure," said Ruairidh. "I'd had enough of Elves tae last me a good while yet, so I kept moving, o'er the mountains and through the wild lands until I finally arrived in Westerland. I met this one in Swyncrest," he gestured to Thorvold, "and the rest is history. And so now here we are."

"That is quite a tale," said Rick. "I hope that when this is all said and done, that you can rebuild your life."

* * *

True to the old man's word, the road from Swyncrest to Nevron was indeed safe. When they arrived at the capital, they couldn't help but feel disappointed.

"I expected the home of a duke to be a bit grander," said George, as he surveyed the city. It was a fairly large city, but was relatively unimpressive; it looked more or less like a cleaner version of Swyncrest, and with a castle that wasn't falling apart.

"It is not our place to judge," said Thorvold. "Now come, let's go and see if we can secure an audience with the duke. First, though, we need to find lodging; one does not simply walk into a castle and expect to see the lord of that house. We must write to him asking for an audience. Then we wait for a return note. We must also find some new attire. We are all, myself included, far too unpolished to appear before the court."

"How do you know all this?" asked Exq.

"You forget, I am a Dwarf Lord," said Thorvold. "I used to see dignitaries come and go from Khazdum, before it was destroyed."

"Well then," submitted Rick, "we will follow your lead."

* * *

"So, here we are again," said Exq. The party was seated around a circular wooden table in an inn called The Bronze Bishop. Earlier in the day, they had gone to a clothier to be outfitted in garb more befitting a royal court, for which Thorvold had paid. He had also penned a note requesting an audience before Christopher, Duke of Middlefyder, which he had sent off to be delivered.

"Now we hurry up and wait," concluded Ruairidh. "I do hope we get an answer tomorrow. I want to be on with it."

"Just remember," said Thorvold, "and this goes for all of you, let me do the talking. The rest of you, don't speak unless spoken to, and even then, keep it short, courteous, and to the point."

"And you're certain that your status as a Dwarf Lord will give you sway before the duke?" Rick asked.

"If I'm honest, no," Thorvold admitted, "but I'm counting on it."

* * *

The next morning, there was a knock at the door. Thorvold answered it to find the landlady looking very cross, indeed.

"Are you…Thorvold, Lord of…" She adjusted her spectacles as she squinted her eyes.

"Khazdum, yes," said Thorvold, disallowing her to finish, which seemed to make her all the more cross. "Is there a problem, milady?"

"Got a message for you," she snapped, and thrust what had been a very neatly rolled sheet of parchment at him. She left without another word.

"Wonder what's crawled up her arse and died…" Thorvold muttered to himself as he shut the door behind him. As he read, his eyes widened with excitement, and when he was finished he rushed to wake the rest of his companions.

"Alright, lads!" the Dwarf Lord cried when he'd finally awakened them all. "This is it! We've been granted an audience with the duke. We must get ready and be off at once."


	9. Christopher, Duke of Middlefyder

_I don't own D&D._

* * *

**The Brothers Sound**

**Ch. 8: Christopher, Duke of Middlefyder**

"His Highness will see you now," said a half-Elf in burgundy finery with a nose resembling a beak. "Speak only when spoken to, and always address him as 'Your Highness'. Should your conduct be deemed unacceptable, you will be removed from the premises immediately, whether through cooperation or by force." The attendant stepped aside and allowed the party to enter.

A long burgundy carpet ran the length of the room. Various lords and ladies, with their pages and handmaidens, loitered throughout the room. At the end of the carpet opposite the party sat Christopher, Duke of Middlefyder, on his throne. Like his attendants, he wore a burgundy doublet and black velvet slops, with burgundy hose and black slippers. He also wore a silver pendant fashioned in the likeness of several intertwining sprigs of bluebonnet surrounding an opal. A silver ring set with an opal adorned the ring finger of his right hand. The man himself was pleasant enough to look at; a full beard covered his chin and upper lip, and his dirty blond hair hung across his shoulders. He had dark, expressive eyebrows, and youthful blue eyes could be seen hiding behind his long lashes. The duke was lounging on his throne, but upon seeing the party enter, he shifted to an erect sitting position.

"Kneel," said the duke as they approached his throne. They obeyed. "Identify yourselves," he then instructed. One by one they stated their names. When each had identified himself, the duke said, "Rise."

"It has been a long time since I saw a Dwarf Lord," said the duke. "If memory serves, I was still a boy when I last saw Tordek, Lord of Dwedrimos. Tell me then, Dwarf Lord Thorvold, what realm do you call yours?"

"Khazdum, Your Highness," answered Thorvold.

"Khazdum," repeated the duke. "I have not heard of this place. Where is it, pray tell?"

"Alas, but the halls of Khazdum, in truth, are no more, Your Highness," said Thorvold, with sadness in his eyes. "It was destroyed, with everyone in it. Had fortune or fate not caused me to stray for a time, it would have taken me as well."

"That is very sad," said the duke, "but I have faith that one day the halls of Khazdum will once again ring with Dwarf-song. Now tell me, when you say 'destroyed', how did this come about? I'm wondering if I don't already know the answer."

"Indeed, Your Highness, 'destroyed' was not entirely accurate," said Thorvold. "I would have been better to say it was taken from me."

"Then my suspicions are correct," said Christopher. "Come, walk with me, all of you." The duke then led the fellowship through a corridor and through an archway, where a great oak door was opened for them. They stepped out into a majestic garden.

"Normally these gardens are off-limits to those outside my court," said Christopher, "but you are a special case. It seems that we all have something in common." When no one said anything, he continued. "We are all victims of the same crime – I should note, now that we are away from the court, you may speak freely. That rule is only instated because I have to keep up appearances."

"Good to know," said George. "So now, how do you mean that we are all victims of the same crime?"

"Simple," said Christopher. "Thorvold's ancestral realm was taken from him; Ruairidh's home was burned and he kidnapped; Exq never knew his Elf father; and you boys lost your brother, father, and your home burned as well. I lost my father and home too. And if I'm not mistaken, at the source of all of this is the wizard Vernam."

"Aye," affirmed Thorvold. "That is the case for all of us, although I can't speak for Exq. It is likely, though, that Vernam is the reason Exq never knew his Elf father."

"Well," said the duke, "unfortunately, I have no idea where Vernam might be. If you can find him, you can bring him down."

"But we don't know where he is either," said Rick.

"I have it on good authority that he was born in Camerost," said Christopher. "You might find some answers there. You," he added, addressing Exq, "might also find the answers you seek."

"Then we cannae spare any time," said Ruairidh. "We need tae get a move-on."

"Word of advice," said Christopher. "Steer clear of the roads. I realize that sounds crazy, considering you'll be traveling through The Wilds, but His Majesty the King is sending soldiers north to aid Mercavia secure territory from Soghain. As if they need more land, but I suppose that's what comes from having a king who has Mercavian ancestry. But I'm digressing. Just stay off the road as much as you can, head north, and eventually you'll reach the forest that is the Elven kingdom. Now come, and remember to put the show back on when we get back inside."

The group, led by the duke, returned to the throne room, where they bid each other part with the highest courtesy. They left the castle and started through the city to continue their journey north.


	10. Thieves and Elves

_Disclaimer: I don't own Dungeons & Dragons, just OC's._

* * *

**The Brothers Sound**

**Ch. 9: Thieves and Elves**

"This city's bigger than it looks," said George as they wended their way through the narrow streets of Nevron.

"I think it's more an issue of there being a more city than there is space," Rick answered. "Everything is packed in so tight."

"Well, surely we can't be that far from the north gate," Thorvold said, "although I couldn't tell you where we are; there are too many people and things in the way for me to see anything."

"Dinnae talk tae me about not being able tae see anything!" shouted Ruairidh. "You try being three and a half feet tall and then maybe I'll listen!"

The group continued in this way, forcing their way through the crush of people. They were nearly to the gate when Thorvold felt a tug at his waist.

"What –" he began, and then he saw, for an instant, a tiny body skittering away in the opposite direction. He put a hand to his belt, and sure enough, his silver pouch was missing. He then took off after the figure.

"Where are you going?" Exq called after him.

"That filthy rake stole my silver!" he shouted back. Although his legs weren't very long, he was running at full tilt, ramming his way through the crowd, and so the rest of the group was only just able to keep him in sight. They saw him turn down an alley, and were only just able to change direction without running into a crowd of people.

"I've got you now, you rat!" Thorvold shouted, but he spoke too soon. Before he knew what was happening, the tiny figure had scaled the wall at the end of the alley.

"Damn you!" he shouted. He turned back to his friends, looking dejected. "Well, there goes all the money we had."

"Wait, I have an idea," said Ruairidh. "Throw me up."

"What?" said the rest of the group in unison.

"You heard me," said Ruairidh. "Throw me up there. I dinnae weight that much. If you throw me up there, I could maybe catch the thief."

"You're a complete nutter, you know that?" Thorvold said. "This had better work." In one hand he took Ruairidh by the collar of his shirt, and in the other he took his belt, and, with a mighty heave, flung the gnome up into the air. With a thud, they heard the gemcutter land on the roof.

"Told you it would work!" he called down to them. He turned, and gave chase on his own to the tiny thief.

The good thing about the streets being so narrow, Ruairidh realized as he chased the thief, was that it meant the gaps between buildings were small enough for him to jump. Finally he caught up with the thief, who was just slightly smaller than himself, and in a last-ditch effort, he threw himself forward and tackled the thief to the floor. He pinned the thief down, and could now see that the aggressor was a Halfling woman, probably not too much younger than himself; old by the reckoning of Men, but still very young by Little People measure.

"Gerrof me!" she spat, as she wrestled against Ruairidh. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Perhaps a bit," he said. "I could ask you the same thing. What were you thinking, stealing from a dwarf?"

"I was thinking a bit of money might be nice," she said. She got to her feet and batted at the olive green tunic she wore, in an attempt to dust herself off. "I hope you're happy now, though. No money means no food tonight."

"Well, no, I'm no happy," said Ruairidh, "but ye cannae just go round thieving from people."

"Why not?" she demanded. "It's worked for this long. Why should I stop now?"

Ruairidh waited for a moment, letting the gears in his head turn. Finally he said, "What's your name?"

"Why do you care?"

"Just asking," he said.

She paused. Then finally she told him, "Táinte. Táinte Ní Loghamsdúin."

"Loghamsdúin…" Ruairidh. "Seems like me grancha talked about a Loghamsdúin. From Cuiduligh?"

"The very same," she said. Her initial disdain for Ruairidh was clearly starting to wane, as evidenced by the smirk that was starting to draw across her face. "So what's a Gnome doing in Nevron, anyhow?"

"Tell you what," said Ruairidh. "Why don't I let the others explain."

* * *

When it was all said and done, the party numbered six, as they had decided to allow Táinte to join them. Although Thorvold was still not happy with her for stealing his silver, even he had to admit that she was a skilled thief. As it turned out, Táinte was also a victim of Vernam; he had caused the ground to swallow her village. Among the victims had been her fiancé, Fáisceo. Afterwards, she had wandered the Soghain countryside aimlessly until eventually she'd found herself in Westerland, quite by accident by her account. She had resigned herself to a life of wandering, never staying in one place for very long before moving on. It wasn't a very rewarding life, but she had greatly developed her skills as a thief and an acrobat, as well as a sneak. The Sound brothers had been able to convince Thorvold that, because of her connection to Vernam as well as her skill set, Táinte should go with them. Besides, they'd added, that way they could keep an eye on her.

Heeding the Duke of Middlefyder's words, the group avoided the roads as much as possible. They stayed near the roads, to avoid losing their way, but made sure to stay out of sight. The second day of their travel, they heard voices and were forced to take cover in the brush.

"Quiet!" George called, loud enough for his group to hear him, but not so loud that he would be heard by those approaching. They huddled together in the brush, and as they did, they could hear the voices of men, and occasionally through the vegetation, see ranks of soldiers in steel that glinted in the sun. As they passed, they could hear fifes and drums, and along with them the soldiers singing:

"_There's forty shillings on the drum  
For those who volunteer to come  
To list and fight the foe today,  
Over the hills and far away._

_O'er the hills and o'er the main,  
Through hardship, sorrow, loss, and pain,  
Our king commands and we obey,  
Over the hills and far away._

_If duty calls me, I must go  
To stand and face another foe.  
Into battle we will stray  
Over the hills and far away._

_O'er the hills and o'er the main,  
Through hardship, sorrow, loss, and pain,  
Our king commands and we obey,  
Over the hills and far away._

_If I should fall to rise no more,  
As many comrades did before,  
Then ask the fifes and drums to play  
'Over the Hills and Far Away'._

_O'er the hills and o'er the main,  
Through hardship, sorrow, loss, and pain,  
Our king commands and we obey,  
Over the hills and far away._

_Then fall in, lads, behind the drum,  
With colors blazing like the sun,  
Upon the road to come-what-may,  
Over the hills and far away._

_O'er the hills and o'er the main,  
Through hardship, sorrow, loss, and pain,  
Our king commands and we obey,  
Over the hills and far away."*_

"Those must be the troops the duke told us about," said Ruairidh, once they'd passed. "He no was joking, then."

"You saw the duke?" asked Táinte. "As in Christopher, Duke of Middlefyder?"

"The very same," said Rick. "He told us that the king had ordered soldiers to assist the Mercavian army. No doubt there will be more than just that division."

"That was too close a call," said Exq. "From now on, I think we should travel by night."

It was decided, then, that they would do as Exq suggested. The fellowship took to sleeping by day and traveling by night. After a few days they came upon a body of water to their left. They followed the shore for more days still, until eventually they spied a light in the distance.

"An outpost," said Exq. "I can see them from here, archers high up near the fire."

"Let's go!" Táinte explained.

"Wait," said George. "We can't just rush in. They're likely to shoot. We have to make sure they know we come peaceably."

They approached the outpost with their weapons put away and their hands in the air, fingers spread, to show that they weren't looking for trouble. The archers kept their bows trained on the group.

"_Pam idich chi wedi dod ima?_" demanded one of the archers. The group stood silent for a moment. Finally Exq spoke.

"_Ridim in dod i gel atebion_," he answered.

"_Pa fath o atebion?_" asked the archer.

"_Me'r math gida a dim ond galh eich pobl in ein helpu_," he said. The archer eyed him warily, but finally lowered his bow.

"_Dilinuch fi. I fordh hon_." The archer turned, motioned to the others to stay, and then beckoned the group to follow him.

"What just happened?" George whispered to Exq as they followed the archer.

"I just got us into Camerost, that's what happened," said Exq.

* * *

Camerost was like nothing any of them had seen before, and only Exq had been able to imagine what it would be like. The Elves had built their kingdom in the treetops; everything that wasn't part of the trees themselves was suspended above the forest floor by wood and ropes.

"You will find that most do not speak the words of Men," said the archer as he led them through the great Elven tree-city. "There is not much need; Men do not normally come here. Very few who are not of us have come to Camerost."

"How do you come to speak it, then?" asked Rick.

"Where I am stationed at that outpost, I encounter Men more often than most," said the archer. "I have also had to travel into the land of Men on occasion, and so I learned your words."

"_Beth iu eich enu?_" interrupted Exq.

"Curufinwë," said the archer. He noticed the look of confusion that crossed the faces of the rest. "He asked me my name. I am called Curufinwë."

"Well, Curufinwë," said Rick, "we are most grateful for your hospitality."

"You are lucky you had an Elf with you," said Curufinwë, "or part of one, at least." He said to Exq, "_Ridich in cadu cumni rhivedh._"

"_Me'r rhain in fi frindiau. Ridim in unedig in ein hachos in erbin gelin civredin._"

"_Beth idich chi'n ei oligu?_ asked Curufinwë. Exq explained the situation to him. His expression changed from mild interest to genuine concern. He then addressed the group as a whole. "You must come with me. There is a home for visiting Elves where you may stay for the time being. I must tell the Lord of this realm of this. You should speak to him." He led the group to his home high in the trees of Camerost. Then he left them.

"Who is the Lord of this realm?" George asked Exq once Curufinwë had left.

"How should I know?" Exq demanded. "I grew up in Swyncrest. This is the first time I've ever been to Camerost."

"Well," said Thorvold, speaking for the first time since their arrival, "the sooner we're out of here, the better, in my opinion."

"I'm no too fond of this place meself," said Ruairidh. "Elves, for one thing, but even so, I'd rather keep me feet on solid ground."

"I quite like it here," said Táinte. "I'd rather be back in Soghain, but I could get used to this."

"I'm afraid I have to side with Thorvold and Ruairidh on this one," said Rick. "I'd like to be done here as soon as we can be."

The next few hours passed uneventfully. The group talked about what had brought them to this point. Táinte was especially eager to hear about their meeting with the Duke of Middlefyder. Eventually Curufinwë returned.

"The Lord is not ready to receive," he said. "He will see you in a few days. Someone will come to take you to him; if you wish, that person can go and speak for you when the time comes, or your Half-Elf friend can speak. The rest of you must not speak to him; the Lord expects those who speak to him to use his words, not the words of Men."

"Exq will speak for us," said George. "Thank you, Curufinwë, for your hospitality, but where will you be?"

"I must return to the outpost," he said. "Just remember, speak only the words of Elves to his Lordship, and do not look upon him." He then turned to leave without another word.

* * *

Dressed in the garb of Camerost, the group followed an Elf woman named Luimes up to the highest part of the city kingdom. They thanked her for escorting them, and then she left them at the entrance to the throne chamber.

"_Rhouch_," said a voice from inside the chamber. Exq told them that the person had instructed them to enter, and so they did.

"_Mivi iur Argluidh i deirnas hon. Pam idich chi'n ima_?" said the Lord of Camerost.

"_Ir idim uedi i gel cimorth i dhod o hid i Elf enu Vernam. Ridim in credu ei fod in dod o deirnas hon in ureidhiol._" Exq replied.

"_Vernam,_" said the Lord, stroking his chin as a Man might stroke a beard. "_Ie, ir uiv in ei adnabod. Diueduch urthiv felhi, os idich in dod o hid idho, beth fidhech chin ei uneud ag ev?_"

Exq leaned over to George and whispered, "He wants to know what we will do to Vernam if we find him."

"Tell him we seek to bring justice," George answered.

"_Ridim in ceisio sicrhau civiaunder,_" said Exq to the Lord.

The Lord began to laugh. "Justice!" he cried, in the tongue of Westerland. "Do not dress your words to try and sway me. You seek to kill him, I can see it in your eyes." He stepped down from his throne and walked toward them.

"You are surprised that I am using your own tongue with you," he said. It was not a question. "Normally I refuse to use it, but this is of grave importance, and so I felt it would be more pertinent. You seek Vernam in order to kill him, as recompense for the wrongs he has committed. You are justified, but it will not be easy. You are correct in believing he is from Camerost. However, he was banished from the kingdom, and is no longer considered one of us. There is a spell that guards us from him; you were unaffected because you have good in you. Those things that are wholly evil, however, may not pass into the forest."

"_Idich chi'n guibod ble galhai fod?_" asked Exq, still using the tongue of Elves.

"I cannot say for sure where he might be," said the Lord, "although I do know that many years ago as Men count them, he was living as a noble in Eastfyder under an assumed name; if I am not mistaken, he was known as Count Herodar of Aldmerrow. I am sorry that you traveled all this way just to go back to Westerland, but the return trip will be easier, I can assure you."

"How do you plan to return us?" asked Rick.

"Luimes will take you to see Maglor Míriel. He is one of the expert mages of Camerost; you will be teleported back to where you came from. As for you," he turned to Exq, "_Me'n dhrug genniv, ond nid ois genniv ir ateb i chi chwilio_."

* * *

There was a rushing sensation, the scene blurred together in chaos. As soon as it had begun, it was over, and the group was standing with Maglor in a field outside Nevron.

"This is where we part company," said Maglor. "Good luck to you in your endeavors." Then he vanished as he teleported back to the Elven forest kingdom.

"So now what?" Táinte huffed once Maglor had disappeared. "He's left us out in the wilderness!"

"Let's see if we can't gain another audience with the duke," suggested Rick. "He might be able to tell help us again."

"It's worth a try," agreed Ruairidh.

"Alright then," said George. "Does everyone agree, then? That's what we should do?" They did agree, and so they started towards the city once more.

* * *

*_Lyrics are slightly changed from the English song "Over the Hills and Far Away". The version I've used is from the series Sharpe, and can be found on YouTube here: watch?v=WOeYPpOblAw_


End file.
